The Law and Miss Mary (10 page)

She pressed her lips together. Blinked. Blinked again. He squeezed her hand. She looked up at him. “When I was at the jail today, there were six boys—” She lifted her hands and wiped away the tears on her cheeks. “I know I cannot care for all of these children, James. I
know
that. But if you had seen them holding on to those bars and looking out…” She drew her hand from his, rose and then walked over to look out the window. “I shall simply have to think of something.”

“Thank you for carrying my packages home for me, Captain.”

“My pleasure, Miss Stewart.”

She smiled up at him. “I am so glad you happened by Virginia’s house as I was leaving. It gives me the chance to tell you how very pleased Father is that you have so quickly rid our streets of the disturbing presence of those filthy urchins. Mother and I are pleased, as well. It was most pleasant shopping today. I did not see
one
of those dirty creatures lurking about.”

Sam nodded. “You won’t see them from now on. They are afraid to be on the streets in the daytime for fear of being arrested. They come out at night, hoping the darkness will hide them.”
Because of him.
He frowned. “And it may be that some of them are ill. A little girl I had in jail is sick. Doc Patterson said she needed care, but your father said there was no money for such expenses.”

“Well, of course not. Gracious! That care would be very expensive. And all of Father’s plans to improve and beautify St. Louis are costly.” Levinia gave a toss of her head, bouncing the golden curls spilling from the back of her bonnet. “And why should the good citizens of St. Louis pay for the care of those disgusting urchins? If they were not so dirty, they would not be sick.” She stopped, gasped. “Oh, my! I certainly hope they do not pass on their filthy diseases to the rest of us.” She took a step back. “Are you quite well, Captain?”

Did the woman never think of anyone but herself?
Sam squelched a bubble of irritation at her total lack of sympathy for the orphaned children’s plight. “I enjoy excellent health, Miss Stewart. I would not allow myself the pleasure of your company did I not.” The compliment soured on his tongue.

“But if you are around this sick…” She gave a helpless little wave of her hand.

“Girl,” Sam supplied, keeping his tone pleasant. “You need not fear, Miss Stewart. The child is no longer at the jail. Miss Randolph has taken her to her home to care for her.” The image of Mary Randolph leaning over the child in the jail swam before him. The concern on her face, the kindness in her voice. He pushed it away, bent down and opened the gate to the mayor’s house with his free hand.

“Miss Randolph? Who—Oh, I recall her now. She is that tall, thin,
plain
woman we met on the steps of the courthouse last week. And again after church on Sunday.” She gave him a coquettish glance from beneath her long lashes.

It was an invitation for him to pay her superior beauty a compliment. He knew it as surely as if she had spoken it out loud. Annoyance rippled. Something in him turned stubborn. He nodded. “That’s right. That is Miss Randolph. Though I don’t know as I would call her plain.”
Not with those eyes, and that proud little chin.

Anger flashed across Levinia’s face. “You find her attractive, Captain Benton?”

Careful, Sam.
He smiled down at her. “You know who I find attractive, Miss Stewart.”

She tilted her head and sent another of her dimpled smiles his way.

She hands those smiles out like a reward.
His annoyance surged again. Sam scowled. What was wrong with him? “Here we are.” He took her elbow, helped her up the steps to the porch, then released her arm and handed her the packages. “Good evening, Miss Stewart.”

She gave him a sharp look. He sucked in a draught of night air and pushed his vexation aside. “One could hope that Virginia Weller lived at a greater distance.” He forced a smile. “Our walk would have been longer.”

“Yes. That would have been pleasant, Captain.” She flashed her dimples at him. “Good evening.”

Sam opened the door, watched Levinia enter the house, then hurried to slip through the gate toward Chestnut Street, headed for the stables. He needed a ride. A long ride on Attila over the plains outside of town to clear his head and get his thinking straight before he sabotaged his own goals. But all the same…

Mary Randolph, plain? Sam snorted. Not to his way of thinking!

Chapter Eleven

A
nother steamship whistled its arrival. As a horse trotted down Front Street, Sam glanced over his shoulder, automatically taking note of the rider. A buggy rumbled over the cobblestones and he peered into the night, but it was too dark for him to see its occupants. He didn’t recognize the horse or the rig. Probably someone come across the river from Illinoistown on the ferry.

He faced front again as James Randolph tucked the key to the door of the Mississippi and Missouri steamer line office building into his pocket and opened the door. Sam followed Randolph inside and closed the door. The noise of the activity on the levee was reduced to a muffled din by the building’s thick, stone walls.

“The ledger is over here.” Randolph lit an oil lamp on the table by the window and crossed the room with it, splotches of yellow light bobbing across the plank floor as he walked.

Sam followed him around a table to the high bookkeeper’s desk and pushed aside the stool.

“Here are my tallies.” Randolph handed him a sheet of paper covered with neat columns of numbers, then held the lamp so the light fell over the desk.

Sam focused his attention on the figures, shifting his gaze between the company ledger and the paper in his hand. There was a sizable discrepancy between the totals. To the company’s deficit, of course. He closed the ledger. “The bookings for passage recorded are certainly less than those you have written down, Mr. Randolph. And they can be easily proven. What about the pelts you have listed? Where are they?”

“In the back room.” Randolph headed toward the rear of the office. “I apologize for bringing you here this late at night, Captain Benton. But the pelts are to be shipped to New Orleans tomorrow. Tonight was my only chance to prove my suspicions are correct.”

Randolph opened the door to the back room and lifted the lamp high. “Over here.” He moved forward and light splashed on bundles of pelts stacked at the end of a long table against the far wall.

Sam strode over to them, put the paper down on the table beside the first stack and began to count. He watched Randolph out of the corner of his eye. The young man was mad as a hungry bear, but handling it well. “You’re short, all right.”

Randolph nodded. “I figured if Goodwin was the one skimming the profits from the company, he would in some way take advantage of my ignorance of the value of pelts. I would not know the difference in value recorded in the ledger and true value. That is why I kept count of the ones he accepted as payment. And, as I suspected, he has made off with a portion of the pelts. That is another reason I brought you here at this late hour. I believe Goodwin may be leaving town tonight.”

Sam studied the young man’s face. “Goodwin has likely been stealing company profits for quite a while. Why do you think he is planning to run tonight?”

“Because of this.” Randolph picked up the piece of paper on which he had carefully recorded all the transactions of the past week and started back to the front office. “I keep this in the top right drawer of my desk, hidden between two papers in a folder. When I went to get it tonight, it was between the wrong two papers.”

An expression of disgust swept over Randolph’s face. He closed the door of the back room. “I leave the door to my office ajar, so I can hear and record all the transactions. The hinge squeaked a bit this morning and when I looked up, the opening was a bit narrower. Someone had bumped the door. I believe it was Goodwin.”

The young man shook his head and placed the oil lamp back on the table. “He must have seen me writing down information and suspected I was on to him. When I came back tonight to check on the pelts, I saw the list had been moved, which meant he must have searched my desk after I went home for the evening. So I counted the pelts, confirmed my suspicions were correct and set out to find you.”

Sam moved to the front door. “It looks as if you have proof enough, Mr. Randolph. Do you want to press charges?”

“Yes.”

Sam nodded. “All right. You hold on to that piece of paper—and I will go pay a call on Goodwin. If we get lucky, I may catch him with the pelts.” Another steamship whistled news of its departure. He looked in the direction of the levee. “But my guess is—since he learned you now know—he has already left town.” He opened the door. The sounds of activity and nighttime revelry poured in.

“I will come with—”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “This is my job, Mr. Randolph, and I’ll handle it. You have done your part. I’ll be in touch.” He stepped out into the night and turned north. Goodwin lived on Olive Street. Near the boardinghouse Thomas had stayed in. Sam frowned and hurried his steps, even though he was sure the man had already caught a steamboat out of town.

Mary stooped to feel Katy’s forehead. The summer savory herb Ivy had given her seemed to have broken the fever. The little girl felt cooler. And she had stopped moaning and thrashing about in her sleep.

Mary let out a sigh of relief, and stepped over to the window. It was too warm in the bedroom for her comfort, but she did not dare open the window and expose Katy to the cooler air. She glanced back at Katy. The little girl was sleeping soundly. It would be all right to leave her for a few minutes.

Mary snatched up her dressing gown and tugged it on as she went downstairs and out onto the porch. The sounds of St. Louis’s revelry drifted to her on the breeze flowing from the river. She lifted the thick, heavy braid off the back of her neck and moved to the steps. It was so late. Why did James not return? And why had he gone back to his office tonight? Had it something to do with his suspicions of Eli Goodwin?

She dropped the braid and placed her hand against the post beside her. Could James be in danger? She glanced up at the star-sprinkled sky.
Please, God, do not let any harm come to James.

A steamboat whistle blew three short bursts.

Mary jerked her gaze down from the sky. Why had she prayed? It was useless. Her family believed that God loved them, watched over them and answered their prayers. But she was not one of God’s favored. Why would He care enough to answer her prayers? Tears filmed her eyes. In spite of her mother’s teachings,
her
prayer was simply an ingrained habit, not an exercise of faith.

Footsteps sounded. The gate creaked. Mary started, slipped behind the post and looked toward the street. The dark form took on shape and features. “James!”

Her brother stopped, looking up at the porch. “Mary? What are you doing awake and outside at this late hour?”

She smiled down at him. “Waiting for you to come home.
And
catching a breath of cool air. It is warm upstairs and I did not want to open my bedroom window. I thought a breeze might harm Katy.”

He nodded and started up the steps. “How is she doing?”

“Much better.” Mary smiled at him as they crossed the porch. “Her fever has broken. And she is sleeping well.”

“That is quite an improvement.” He opened the door.

“Yes.” Mary glanced up at him as she walked into the house. “What has kept you so late, James? Has it something to do with your suspicions of Mr. Goodwin?”

“Yes. I now have enough proof to press charges.”

“Those secret records you have been keeping.”

James scowled and nodded. “Yes. But Goodwin found them. That is why I had to take care of things tonight. Captain Benton has gone to arrest him—if Goodwin has not left town.”

“I see. At least the matter is solved and you can now turn your full efforts into making the steamer line the best in St. Louis.”

“I am not certain it is solved, Mary. I believe Captain Benton thinks there is someone other than Goodwin involved. I could be wrong, of course.”

She watched him hang his hat on the tree. “Speaking of Captain Benton, James…”

“Were we?” He glanced down at her and grinned.

She knew immediately he was thinking of their conversation last Saturday evening. She wrinkled her nose at him. “His name was mentioned.” Her dressing gown floated around her slippered feet as she moved into the parlor. “I have been thinking about those small boys Captain Benton has in his jail. Their faces are haunting me.” She lifted her chin and turned to face him. “I cannot leave them there, James. I have to get that horrid law revoked, then go to the jail and bring them home.” Her pose of bravado collapsed. “Will you come with me?”

James shook his head. “I cannot, Mary. With Goodwin gone, I have to stay at the office.”

“Oh, of course. I had not thought…” She brushed at her hair and glanced around the small parlor. “If I bring those boys home, I have no idea where they will sleep…”

James stepped closer, draped his arm about her shoulder and squeezed. “You get those boys free, Mary. We will find a way to take care of them.”

Chapter Twelve

M
ary made a slow pirouette and studied her reflection in the mirror. Today she wanted,
needed
the confidence of looking her best, and she had chosen to wear one of her finest gowns. The light, ecru pongee with cinnamon-colored lace trimming the collar, the puffed sleeves and long, three-tiered skirt flattered her dark hair and eyes. At least, that is what Madam Duval said. And it must be true, for her mother agreed.

Mary turned her back on her image, then picked up the matching gloves of cinnamon lace and pulled them on as she walked out of the dressing room.

Her only regret with her choice of gown was the matching hat. If one could call it that. Mary frowned and lifted her hand to touch the wide band of matching fabric, shirred to stiffness and trimmed with flowers made of the cinnamon lace. The band circled the thick, loose knot of hair at her crown. There were no bows to hide her neck or chin, only the narrow ribbons that slid alongside her coiled hair and tied in the back. And there was no wide brim to hide her face. She glanced at her everyday straw hat hanging on the hat tree, but rejected the idea of wearing it instead of the minute confection. The straw hat would not do today. Elegance suited her purpose.

She sighed and walked to the kitchen. “I am leaving now, Ivy.”

Ben slipped off a stool at the table and gaped up at her. “You look pretty as a flower, Miss Mary!”

“Why, thank you, Ben.” She laughed, leaned down and gave him a quick hug, then straightened, glanced at Ivy, who had paused from her work of kneading dough, and gave a little shrug. “It is the fancy dress.” She looked down, ran a cinnamon-colored lace-gloved hand over her skirt, then glanced back up. “I wanted to tell you, Edda will stay upstairs with Katy. And that I told Callie she must come downstairs soon. I do not want Katy tired. Oh! And please make sure Katy has more of the sage tea concoction every hour for her throat. It does seem to be helping.” She tapped the toe of her foot and nibbled at her lip. “I believe that is all. I will return as quickly as possible.”

She turned with a swirl of her long skirts and started back through the dining room. “Wish me well!”

A chorus of well wishes from the kitchen and from upstairs followed her to the front of the house. She laughed at Ben’s and Callie’s exuberance as she stepped out onto the porch, and closed the door. With another swish of her long skirts she turned and hurried down the front steps.

“Good morning.”

“Oh!” Mary jolted to a stop and looked up. Her breath caught at the sight of Samuel Benton. She pressed her hand to her chest and stared at him.

He stared back.

Warmth spread through her, heating her cheeks. She had no hat hiding her face. No wonder he was staring! Her fingers twitched. She wanted to lift her hands to hide her foolish blush, but refused to do anything that might call his attention to it. She could, however, do nothing to hide the deep breath she must take or swoon. She drew in air, expelled it, drew in more. It helped. She was less…shaky. She lowered her hand to her side, wished he would look away and when he did not, lifted her chin. Let him see her plainness! “Did you want something, Captain Benton?”
Good!
Her voice was steady.

The captain nodded, then cleared his throat. “I had to speak with your brother this morning. I was on my way back to the jail and thought I would stop by and see how Katy Turner is doing.”

“How
Katy
is doing?”

“Yes.” The blue eyes looking down at her darkened. “In spite of your poor opinion of me, I am not a monster who hates children, Miss Randolph. I am a policeman doing his job. If I did not care about Katy Turner, I would not have sent for you when the doctor said she needed care.”

Embarrassment sent the heat flowing into her cheeks again. And, once again, she refused to hide the flush. She deserved his poor opinion. “You are right, of course, Captain Benton. Please forgive me. I am grateful you sent for me when Katy became ill, and I hope you will do the same for any other children you may find in the same condition.” She mustered a smile, then moved forward when he turned toward the street. “Katy is doing much better. Her fever broke last evening, and her throat is much less raspy and sore this morning. We have been giving her sage tea with honey and vinegar.”

The gate squeaked. She looked down, uncertain as to what she should do. But he was holding it open for her. She smiled her thanks and stepped through.

“Which way?”

“I beg your pardon?” She looked up, but looked down again. The directness of his gaze was disconcerting. It was no wonder she felt discomposed! She reached up to pull the brim of her bonnet farther forward to hide her face, then remembered her hat had no brim. She brushed an imaginary hair off her temple and lowered her hand.

“Which way are you going? Toward the levee?”

Gracious, he had a deep voice! “No. I am going to the courthouse. To pay a call on Mayor Stewart.” She shot a quick glance at him to see how he took that news. He merely nodded.

“I am headed that direction, if you would accept my escort?”

Poor man, trapped into offering because of good manners. And she could not refuse for the same reason. “That is most kind of you, Captain, thank you.”

They walked the short distance to the corner and turned uphill. A slight breeze played with the dangling ends of the thin ribbon bow that held her hat in place. The sun warmed her back. She sighed, grateful that her features were now in the shade.

“Are you becoming accustomed to St. Louis, Miss Randolph? To the clamor and din of the steamboats and levee? To the sight of Indians and mountain men roaming the streets?”

There was a smile in his voice. Mary met his gaze. The memory of that moment when she had seen her first Indian and crowded close to him for his protection flashed between them. And then she remembered Ben, who she had also met that day, and looked away. “I am indeed, Captain Benton. I no longer jump every time a steamboat blows its whistle. And I am no longer wary of going shopping without escort. But I despair that I shall ever become accustomed to the sight of the Indians.”

He chuckled, and the sound seemed to bounce around in her stomach, causing it to quiver and tighten. She took a breath to ease the sensation. “You said you had to speak with James this morning. Were you successful in arresting Mr. Goodwin?”

“You know of that?” He took her elbow. “We cross here. Mind the step down.” He waited for a passing wagon, then guided her at an angle to the other corner. “I’m afraid Goodwin escaped. When I got to his boardinghouse, he was already gone. I made some inquiries on the levee and found he had taken passage on a steamboat headed downriver. There’s no telling where he’ll go from there. To join Thomas, likely.”

She looked up at him. “The former manager of the line?”

He nodded, took her elbow again and guided her onto the brick path that led to the courthouse. “That’s right. I figure they had to be working together. Otherwise Thomas would have turned Goodwin over to me, same as your brother did.”

They reached the courthouse steps and he offered his arm. She stared at it, remembering the image of the petite Miss Stewart clinging to it. Comparing that to her own tall self soured her stomach. But there was no help for it. She slipped her hand through and rested it on his forearm, aware of the firm, muscular strength of it as they began to climb.

“I have come to know your brother quite well since you arrived in St. Louis. He’s a fine man.”

“On that we agree, Captain Benton.” She drew her hand from his arm as they reached the portico and forced a smile. “Thank you for escorting me, Captain. I am grateful for your kindness.”

He gazed down at her, and the heat crawled into her cheeks again. She had not meant it to sound like a dismissal. He crossed to the double doors, opened one and gave a polite little bow. “My pleasure, Miss Randolph. The mayor’s office is the first door on the right.”

“We have no money for an orphanage, Miss Randolph, and I will not have those
urchins
roaming our city, stealing from our shopkeepers and cluttering up our streets with their dirty, unkempt presence! They are offensive to our finer citizens!”

Finer citizens?
Mary took a breath, held it, then slowly released it. Clearly appeals to the mayor’s conscience would not work. Perhaps he would be moved by financial considerations? “Mayor Stewart, when these
children
are arrested and jailed, the city must provide them with meals and a place to sleep—the same as would be done in an orphanage. Surely there is a building available to the city where—”

“
Miss
Randolph—” The mayor’s palms slapped against the top of his desk. He rose to his feet. “I have tried to be patient, but my patience is at an end. In an orphanage, the city would have to pay people to care for these urchins. In jail there are already keepers to—”

“
Jailers,
Mr. Mayor.”

The man’s face flushed an angry red. “Those ragamuffins stay in jail! As for meals and a place to sleep—they will
earn
their keep. There are jobs they can do on the additions to the courthouse, and on the public school we are to begin constructing.”

Mary shot to her feet and looked him straight in the eyes. “And did your daughter help construct the private academy she attended, Mr. Mayor?” The words flowed from her mouth sweet as honey.

The mayor’s eyes narrowed. He rested his palms on his desktop and leaned toward her. “You have a bold, sharp tongue, young woman.”

“Better a bold, sharp tongue than no heart, sir! Good day!”

Mary whirled about, took two steps and faltered at the sight of Captain Benton standing beside the open door. She raised her chin, her back ramrod straight, and marched on. When she reached the door, she shot him a glance that told him what she thought of men who would treat helpless children in such a fashion and stormed out into the corridor.

“Miss Randolph, wait!”

She turned, her entire body quivering with anger, and watched him walk to her. “You might have warned me of the mayor’s plans to make laborers of the children, Captain. You might have warned me that my visit to his office would be futile.”

His face flushed. But his gaze held steady on hers. “I did not know the purpose of your visit, Miss Randolph, or I
would
have told you. And I heard of his plans to use the children as laborers the same time as you, when I stepped in that office minutes ago. The mayor does not inform me of his plans.”

“I see.” Sadness swept over her. Unreasonable, unwelcome sadness. She believed him, but it made no difference. “Well, you know now, Captain. What are you going to do about it?”

She pivoted and walked to the front doors. And this time she did not look back.

Mary moved about the store, anger driving her steps. She may not be able to get those boys out of jail at the moment, but she could do something to make their lives a little brighter until she could think of a way. How anyone could be as heartless as the mayor when it came to children was beyond her. And Captain Benton was little better!

She frowned, picked up a ball, turning it in her hand. That would not be a good choice, as the cell was far too small to allow for throwing a ball. And if it rolled out of the cell, who would retrieve it for the boys? She put the ball down and moved on.

To be fair, the captain
had
sent for her when Katy took sick. But he should not have jailed her in the first place! Of course, if Katy had been on her own on the streets, what would have happened to her when she became ill? She would have had no care.

Mary paused. How many other children on the streets were sick or injured in some way? The possibility of their suffering made her ill. And angrier. There had to be some way to provide a home for those children! And she would find it.

She glanced at the shelves in front of her. Smiled at the sight of a gaily painted kaleidoscope. That would be perfect. If it were light enough for them to see through it. It had been so dark and dank in that cell! She put the toy in her basket, added another for the children at home and moved on. What else? She needed six toys. One for each of those boys, so they could be busy, have something to do. Tops!

Mary added two of the wooden toys to the basket and wandered over to another table. A game of checkers caught her eye. That would entertain two of the boys at once. She picked up the wooden box and a smile touched her face. She and James often challenged each other at checkers. Sarah was not as much fun to play with. She was not as competitive. What else? Jackstraws! Yes, they would do well. And perhaps one of those wooden cup-and-ball games. And paper dolls for Callie. There were several to choose from. She made her selections and went to the counter.

Sam sat deep in the saddle, the wind blowing in his face, the thunder of Attila’s hoofbeats in his ears. The chestnut loved to run and Sam gave him his head, exalting in the power and strength of the horse’s legs beneath him.

He needed this. He needed this wild gallop out here on the open plain to clear his head. He needed time alone. Only he and Attila…running.

Sam’s face went taut. He leaned forward, patting the thrusting neck. “Ease up now, boy. Ease up.”

The chestnut slowed. Sam held him to a canter and rode on trying to escape his own thoughts…his conscience…the memory of Mary Randolph’s accusing eyes. Those
eyes!

Sam glanced to his left. The sun was hanging low in the western sky. He reined Attila into a big sweep toward the right, and headed back toward town.

What
was
he going to do? Why did Simon Stewart have to come up with this scheme for using these kids for free labor? It was…it was
wrong.
Plain wrong. And there was no way to put a good face on it. What kind of life was that for kids? Up in the morning, marched to a job—And what sort of job would it be? Picking up rocks? Sifting sand? What? Then marched back to their cells, fed a supper of scraps from the restaurant—half of it not fit to be eaten—and then laying down their hurting bodies on hard cots and sleeping behind locked, barred doors until the morning when it would start all over again?